“Bribe someone? That is, apparently, your method.” Scratch tapped the closed book on Brella’s lap as evidence. And then, because she was feeling brave, elbowed her gently in the side.

Brella erupted into fresh giggles, bubbly like froth on cream. “Fine, he probably would. But that’s not a system to build a new nation on, is it?”

“New? Ivinscont has been around for generations.”

“West, west, west to the ocean. That’s certainly new. Besides, most people aren’t going to be mine owners. They’ll be miners. Miners who will need to do a great deal more mining, because now the ore is needed by the crown.”

“But the machines—”

“Don’t require pay. Fewer jobs.”

Scratch considered that. “So what do the miners do?”

Brella yawned behind the back of her hand. The sun had set hours ago, and the fire was down to coals. “Some of them come to the Royal City. Of course, there’s no point in them taking up apprenticeships, since they can’t join guilds. So they end up working jobs that pay less. Many become servants. They take the jobs they can get, and, because they have no room to grow or money to save, their families stay poor for generations.”

“Or they join the Academy.” Scratch’s lips felt numb.

“Or they join the Academy.” She didn’t need to add to fight for a land where they aren’t full citizens. The unspoken truth hung in the air like rotted fruit on a branch.

“How do you know all of this?”

Brella lifted the book. “Reading. Meeting the Kyrians and Westerners that come to the City. I’m a brewer. People like to talk over ale, so I make sure everyone who visits understands their rights.” She smoothed her hair self-consciously, an odd gesture for someone so confident. Seeing it felt like a secret, or a private touch on the arm. “I’m not trying to, you know, save them or anything. I just . . .” She gestured vaguely, then sighed. “I just think they should know the whole of the situation. And that someone is paying attention.”

“I’m glad.” Scratch’s voice was hoarse, so she cleared her throat. “I’m glad you’re paying attention.”

Brella leaned toward her. The place where their shoulders touched felt like a bright spark. “You are too, now. I find that this information isn’t so easily forgotten.”

She nodded, even as a sickly wave of guilt crested in her gut. “They were living in poverty before we came in. In Kyria, I mean.”

Brella nodded. “They were.”

“No sewers. Throwing waste from windows. The streets were filthy. Many of them welcomed us.”

“That’s true.”

“And in the Wilds—”